


north breeze

by tiredaesthetic



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: I'm sad let them meet again omg, M/M, Ulfred are the successors of Aethelnar, help I need more content, i'm slow, pls their story is angsty af, protect alfred at all costs, we were ROBBED, well who would not have a crush on Ubbe lol, what do u want in heckin north america ubbe u fool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredaesthetic/pseuds/tiredaesthetic
Summary: His chest heaved as he stared right back to Ubbe, swords still rose against each other, eyes locked. For a brief moment Alfred felt the blue fire from Ubbes eyes right inside of his lungs, burning all the way down to his throat and to his chest.He was afraid.And he started to worry that this sickness inside of his stomach wasn't going to die before him.orAlfred asks Ubbe to teach him how to fight but finds himself not only struggling with his position as a king but also his faith, feelings and entire worldview.
Relationships: Alfred/Ubbe (Vikings), Athelstan/Ragnar Lothbrok, Torvi/Ubbe (Vikings)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 23





	1. petrichor.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [casassin on Tumblr because they're the first one who talked abt Ulfred with me haha](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=casassin+on+Tumblr+because+they%27re+the+first+one+who+talked+abt+Ulfred+with+me+haha).



> Actually I originally did not plan to write 8 chapters but the script for every chapter somehow appeared out of nowhere soo let's create Ulfred content as long as I am still motivated haha. 
> 
> I usually don't write any fanfics since my native language isn't English (don't kill me for any mistakes lol) but I totally adore this ship and there is almost no content for them so who cares. 
> 
> [Here I am, totally salty about their -non existent- reunion. wow.]

_**petrichor.**_   
_the scent of rain in the air_

„Mhm.“ 

Ubbe's uneuphoric reaction to Alfred's evasive maneuver considering the second ax was so quickly faded between the dense fog around them that the king doubted for a moment that he had ever heard it in the first place.

The clank of the metal in front of him and the scraping of the wooden handles tempted the dark-haired boy to remain in his hunched over position for a few more seconds, waiting to peer upwards, as if the Viking's back was able to throw an ax at him too.  
The situation was bizarre, showing no logic. Was that the way the Norseman taught their children to fight? The fact that there were so many of them left made him doubt it.

Only now did Alfred turn to the second ax, which had split the damp wood of the tree in his back without any further complications. For a moment the young king watched the scratches on the metal of the weapon, considering the scenario in which he hadn't ducked fast enough.  
A dry swallow rolled in his throat, accompanied by fine goose bumps that began to rose around his neck, creeping down his spine. Alfred instinctively let his gaze slide to the two horses whose hoof scraping could be heard from a distance. Two horses. One for Ubbe. One for the king. No soldiers, no company, no one. His mother would call him insane.

„Alfred.“

Ubbe's voice prompted him abruptly out of his stupor, let him quickly get into an upright position, his shoulders tensed. Alarmed, his gaze slid to the hand of the Norseman, who now faced him again head-on. Contrary to what was expected, Ubbe had apparently abandoned the idea of throwing axes at the king, choosing his sword instead. The older man's fingers were wrapped around the hilt of the larger weapon calmly, keeping it in position. Ubbe made no move, remained in unsettling silence.

The king's hands intertwined in front of his groin, massaging his fingers, rubbing the ring over his pale skin as he studied the features of Ubbes face, feeling nervousness taking over in his stomach, making him want to say something to break the oppressive, dragging silence.  
But Alfred didn't know what. There would be nothing to say except _‚What now?‘_   
The look in Ubbe's eyes, like his entire demeanor, however, suggested that he assumed the dark-haired one had to know what to do next.  
The Norseman raised his eyebrows, requesting. 

Alfred was sure that he had never noticed how tall the Viking actually was. It was not that they were separated by a certain number of inches, rather the king felt more and more like a boy under the constant, unswerving gaze of Ubbe. The latter looked correctly placed in his clothes, sure of himself, a warrior, very different from Alfred himself. And again he realized with astonishment how similar the other looked to Ragnar Lothbrok. His blood in his veins could not be denied.

Alfred could no longer completely remember the deceased famous man, but every fragment of these remaining images was now found in the Viking opposite him. As if by itself an even heavier lump of respect gathered in his throat, pressing down hard on his lungs, increasing the inner restlessness. Ragnar's image or not, there was something about Ubbe's form that made the blood in his veins rush, made his heart beat faster. The older man was undoubtedly intimidating, now with a weapon in his hands, with skills far beyond Alfred's own. 

Within his chambers, his immediate domain, the castle, he had always felt safe in the presence of the Norsemen, always maintaining authority. Here, however, it seemed as if the presence of his counterpart merely suppressed it. The forest belonged to Ubbe without him having to do anything about it. The way he just stood there already gave him that right.

The young king swallowed again, suddenly feeling ridiculous in his armor, adorned with the sword in its holder on his hip, and the next second he realized that Ubbe did not adress him by his title when he asked for his attention. He didn't get to reconsider this, however, because the next moment Ubbe did move. His forehead furrowed as his eyebrows drew together under which the blue of his eyes seized with impatience.

„I am not going to throw it. I want you to pull your sword.“

His sword. Fighting, sword. Of course.

„Yes.“ 

Alfred blinked violently as he averted his face from Ubbes. With both hands he felt for the hilt of his own sword, torn between the option of taking time to escape the other man's gaze and the option of hurrying so that he would not make Ubbe even more doubtful of Alfred's ability to interact properly.

 _'Yes.‘ God._

Something about this pathetic situation in which Alfred's honor found itself, reminded the dark-haired boy of his first meeting with the Norseman, in which he had offered Ubbe to convert to Christianity. He could have sworn not to expect an any more unpleasant conversation, but if he couldn't pull himself together in the next few moments, this hope would be well on its way to perish.

Spurred on by this knowledge, the king now drew his own sword, pushing it forward, unlike Ubbe himself, pointing in the direction of the Viking, lifting his chin, inwardly pleading to look like the steadfast king, whom he hoped to be.

Ubbe nodded, bending slowly, lowering his own sword to the forest floor while he was already moving towards Alfred. As soon as he reached him with a sniff, he tapped the tip of the blade with his fingertips, leaving the threatening position ignored, as if he were merely examining the sword itself and the metal that had been used for it. 

Alfred watched the blonde's movements with attentive eyes, while his shoulders began to ache under the weight of the weapon. He was quick to regret lifting the sword in such a provocation, but he was reluctant to lower it under Ubbe's gaze.   
As soon as Alfred turned his head, their eyes met and Ubbe's next words fell into silence, he was assured that Ubbe took a liking to Alfred's condition, even if the older one kept his tone almost diplomatic:

„Not two hands. One.“

„It is heavy.“

Alfred hated the way his breath quivered beneath his syllables, as if he were making a serious effort. Why did it look so easy again when his brother swung his sword? Now he could understand why Aethelred always returned from his practice area so bathed in sweat.

„And it will not get lighter.“   
The older man put his index and middle finger on the wrist of Alfred that was closest to him and began to put extra weight on it.  
„One.“

The young king clenched his jaw, stifling a strained gasp that rolled in his chest. Under that gesture, his jawbones protruded from under his skin, which was rosy from the cold, showing more of his toil than he would have liked.   
However, Alfred did not allow himself to contradict again, instead he loosened the grip of the hand that Ubbe was already holding down anyway.

The sword sagged considerably, while Alfred's left arm thanked him for the relief, but his other's muscles began to protest even more vigorously. It took some willpower from the dark-haired boy to return the blade to its original position while he returned Ubbe's gaze, hoping to make him focus on his face instead of the telltale tremors in his arm.

Ubbe's eyes, however, stayed on Alfred's hand before he turned in a jerk and patted Alfreds upper back with the palm of his hand roughly.

„You are unnaturally stiff. Did you ever hold a sword before?“

Alfred took this comment as an opportunity to let the blade sink back to the floor, his dark eyebrows pulled together, the bridge of his nose slightly puckered.

„Ubbe.“  
He felt like all he was saying today was the Vikings name, trying to maintain his authority, which the other didn't seem to care.  
„Tell me what I have to change.“

The blonde didn’t seem to mind Alfred’s tone, but instead ran the back of his hand over his forehead before reaching for the blade of the sword, which the king had just lowered, to bring it back into a horizontal position.

"Your sword has to become part of your arm. The power that you only give from your wrist now has to come from your entire side."

Ubbe began to hold the blade in Alfred's grip with one hand, while his other clasped the forearm of the dark-haired boy with which the king wielded the sword. Directing Alfred's movements, Ubbe began to swing the younger one‘s arm, raughly presenting the meaning of his explanations, until Alfred was pulled forward almost stumbling by the influence of both components.

"It is also a lot easier to swing it and to balance its weight like this."

The young king nodded clearly, began to accompany the sweeping movements of the Viking with his own strength, leaning slightly forward to give his posture steadfastness. Ubbe's grip on Alfred's arm remained steady for a few moments before he withdrew his hand, whereupon the sword sank down slightly again.

"Better. We are going to try this now."

While Alfred kept his eyes on his own movements with the sword, he saw from the corner of his eye how Ubbe was walking away to pick up his own sword from the ground. As soon as the Viking straightened up with the weapon in its original position, facing him as before, the king also raised his eyes again, paying attention to his newly appointed unofficial mentor.

The blade of Alfreds sword now rested at stomach level, waiting for new instructions from the other. But when that failed again and the surroundings as well as them sank into silence, the young king could no longer fight the tension in his muscles. Under his armor he became warm, with every heartbeat he felt more unknowing and the fact that Ubbe did not even seem to be bothered by the dragging silence sent a rush of uncomfortable impatience through Alfred's veins.   
He was quick to speak up this time to not fall into the loss of control again. With a swift nod, he indicated the drawn sword in his right hand.

„What now?“

His voice sounded more questioning than wanted, did not have the solidity that Alfred longed for. No matter what he said, the Norseman was in control, if only for this moment of training. But even that was enough to make the king feel insecure about his rank. The weapon in his hands weighed unusually heavy and once again the young Christian was faced with the fact that he had not been sufficiently prepared for his present life. 

He maintained the eye contact that had now developed between him and Ubbe, trying to read from the eyes of the other as he could read from the eyes of his mother, his brother and his noble men. In Ubbe's eyes, however, he only encountered a blue storm of indefinable plans and words as he had seen them earlier with Ragnar and as they were also worn by Bjorn.

His approach to form new words was accompanied by the thought of what it was exactly, what the people from the north had in them and whether it were their imaginary gods who set their eyesight in a wild glow. Except for Lagertha, he couldn't remember ever seeing a peaceful look in the eyes of any of the newcomers.

Alfred's lips parted again, but before he could ask another question, the Viking in front of him suddenly jerked his sword, heading for the king. The blade looked deceptively blunt under the dull haze of mist, but Alfred could hear the hiss of its momentum. In a hesitant reaction he heaved his own weapon up, but only reached the level of his chest before Ubbe's sword struck his own defensively with a clang, snatching it out of Alfreds grip. In the next second the tip of the opponents sword was already resting on his chest under which the kings heart skipped a few beats. A trembling breath audibly left his lungs, pushed a shallow cloud of breath outward, mingling with the others, as soon as Ubbe began to address his words to Alfred. His breathing seemed controlled, giving no indication of any exertion.

„Do not be afraid. I told you.“ 

Alfred bent down for his sword as soon as Ubbe put down the blade, took two steps back, not bothering to keep the king in his eyesight.

 _Of course. Thank you._ He had no idea how quickly these lessons worked on the Norsemen, but being pelted with two axes didn't blow any fear reflexes out of his body to turn it into a chunk of steel.

"Shouldn't you show me how and when to defend myself beforehand?"

With raised eyebrows and forcibly lowered breathing, Alfred tensed his shoulders, his own weapon with his arm loosened up to his body as the taller one had shown him before.

"You acquire the skills with action, not words."

"Maybe a few words would save me from jumping into your blade?"

The harsh snort of amusement that came from Ubbe the next moment set a stone in Alfred's stomach. Pressing, but not at all tormenting, almost encouraging.

“Certain moves will help you less than the feeling of your sword in your hand. Use your ... ” Ubbe turned around to him again and pointed in the direction of the figure of the young king with a rough nod. "..reflexes."

The dark-haired boy took a deep breath of the overcast air, soaking up the light scent of rain in the icy silence of the forest. What was that supposed to mean? Alfred couldn't help but to even let his mind keep racing about the way Ubbe _nodded_ towards him. In order to force those thoughts to a halt, the king gave himself up to an action which he would not have carried out after two more seconds of thinking. In one jerk he thrust forward first, leading the sword towards the half-turned away Norseman, already an easier victory in mind. Before his blade could have overcome the necessary distance, however, Ubbe now leaned into a movement too, raising his own sword in a gliding curve, letting it crash into the king's.   
The test of strenght that followed lasted only a few seconds until Ubbe pulled his weapon upwards in one swing, forcefully snatching the sword from Alfreds cold hands again, knocking the dark-haired one off his balance, so that he stumbled against the bag full of axes.   
The king caught himself with his palms on the damp bark of the tree in his back, letting his eyes waver between his sword on the forest floor and Ubbe. The blond had turned away again and ran his fingertips gently over the sides of his sword.  
The king took a quick step forward, reaching out his hand to his weapon, which was almost at Ubbe's feet. Before he could reach it, the figure turned in the corner of his eye and something hard hit him on the shoulder, robbed him of his balance and made him sag back to the base of the tree.   
Ubbe had pushed him off his weapon with his knee and was now crouching on the forest floor in front of the king, his arm with the sword raised to the side, the blade pressed against Alfred's throat.  
His larynx jumped nervously against the cold metal as he swallowed hard. His breathing was heavy. The younger one was sure, his heart made him feel fear in that moment of utter inferiority. At the same time a twinge of excitement rolled in the pit of his stomach as he peered up at Ubbe, somehow impressed and waiting at the same time.

Without turning the sword from Alfred's throat, the Viking pointed to the bag with the axes, which now appeared for the second time right next to the young king.

“You should have taken an ax. Your sword was lost."

Alfred tilted his head slightly back, trying to avoid contact with the blade and the older ones gaze by pretending to look up at the axes.

"I thought you were .." _taking a break so I can collect my royal self to start off freshly again. Yes. Exactly._   
Alfred stopped himself from continuing his words. Heat seized his body again. He shouldn't expect the other to treat him with caution and consideration, they were training for a battle for life and death. Even though he knew he couldn't have done better on his first training session, he internally rebuked himself, condemning himself for his carelessness.

"Do not ..-"

The brown stuck leaves rustled in front of him when Ubbe finally sat up, pulling the sword with him.

"..be afraid.", Alfred completed his words in a gasp with which he also heaved himself up from the forest floor. His mind had already anchored this request, saved it. His body lived out the exact opposite. With every passing moment it became harder for him to suppress the excitement about the upcoming war. He could only hope that Ubbe would get him in shape by then.

While Alfred was still picking up his sword from the floor, he heard the clink of the axes in the bag, instinctively looking up, straightening up faster, expecting Ubbe to attempt another unexpected act. To his surprise, the taller one had put the sword back in its holder and threw the bag of weapons over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

For a moment he panicked and within seconds the young king began to search for any event that could have led the situation in the wrong direction. Did Ubbe decide to decline his request after all? Alfred couldn't decide whether he wanted to feel bitterness, restlessness, or discomfort.

Slowly he moved forward, hand raised soothingly, preparing diplomatic words in his mind.   
However, Ubbe interrupted his attempt as soon as the viking turned to him again, pointing to the horses, leaving Alfred in confusion.

"You do not have any idea of what to expect.", the blonde stated and Alfred was surprised how little offensive his syllables sounded, how little roughness was within them. Ubbe did not seem to start falling into any negative mood, which only drove the king into greater confusion. The taller ones voice seemed ponderous, as if he were considering his next strategies.

Alfred began to follow Ubbe as soon as the latter moved in the direction of the horses, with Alfred right next to him, always keeping an eye on the other from the side, his sword still in his hands.

"That is why I hope you can show me.", he tried carefully to fathom the situation, whereupon he only got a short nod from the Viking. 

Only when they reached the horses did Ubbe look at him, directing his voice to the king and then, in a barely noticeable gesture, point to the sky, which lit up grey between the treetops. Occasional raindrops loosened from the heavy clouds, wetting the leather of the saddle in dark speckles.

“Meet me again by night. This place."

Ubbe swung himself onto the horse in a jerk and for a moment Alfred just stared up at him. Strangely he never questioned the Norsemans request.


	2. serein.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm - I'm sorry, I'm late to the party whops.  
> I wanted to update every week but turns out my life has other plans lol.
> 
> This chapter turned out longer than expected and god the process of translating into English killed my last braincell [I apologize for possible mistakes, I will correct them when I find any :')] 
> 
> also: You can't tell me that they didn't get close to each other A LOT during their training sessions. It's like- impossible not to. damnn we were robbed of nervous Alfred trying his best to do everything right on his first try and Ubbe being the son of Ragnar that he is.
> 
> ah and btw: I'm going to fill the notes with monologues haha, I feel like I have to comment everything lol 🙂🤚
> 
> Plss give me interaction, currently living for it 🧍♀️

_**serein.** _

_the fine, light rain that falls from a clear sky at sunset or in the early hours of night_

Alfred would be happy to be allowed to stand at a safe distance next to his brother, far from the throne. Being king was nerve-wracking. It made him feel as if all the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Since their ride back to the castle in the morning, his noblemen had besieged him, involving him in discussions to plan their defenses and devices to protect the church's equipment and the population of Wessex itself. Alfred felt like he was responsible for the position and wellbeing of every haystack in his kingdom, that he had to protect each of them from every gust of wind.

An impossible task through which his mother's voice tried to carry him steadily. The young king was fortunate to know the former king's wife by his side, but she robbed him of any remaining hope for freedom and tranquility.

The protection and strength of the kingdom, however, were by no means everything Alfred tried to prepare for, which occupied him every spare minute for days.

_‚Thank you for coming. I wondered what exactly ..‘_

Not like that. More eloquence.

_'Be greeted.'_

Too royal. He would probably be pushed into the mud today. This was not a meeting with his nobelmen.

_‚Its dark. What exactly is your plan? How are we suppos-..‘_

_Its dark?_ God have mercy on him, why did each sentence resonate twice in his mind and why did the words seem to become more and more unreasonable with each echo?

With a muted grunt, Alfred kneaded his nose between his thumb and index finger, trying to suppress the hammering headaches that have plagued him steadily since his appointment as king.

Throughout the day, the dark-haired boy had wanted to decide on a greeting, on first words, which were to compensate for his ineptitude during the morning. But every good formulation simply escaped him before he could grasp and use it, leaving him with increasing tension instead, turning again on his heels, walking up and down the edge of the forest further metres.

Alfred eventually dropped his hand to his side, only to raise both back to belly height the next moment, gesticulating with his palms open as he tried to motivate his mind to reveal reasonable words.

It couldn't be that hard. He spoke hourly with various people of the kingdom, sometimes even with some from the surrounding territories.

_‚Ubbe. I’m glad you came. What was your plan when you asked me to meet you that late?‘_

But the Viking, with whom he would now meet alone for the third time, was not of English origin. He belonged to the people of the North, mastered _their_ language, _their_ dealings and _their_ appearance. Alfred had to get used to it before he could meet the newcomers in a suitable tone.

For the Vikings, courtesy and objectivity did not seem to be a cover for secret plans, it was more that they expressed all of their thoughts and threats with every sound, every look, and every movement clearly and without hesitation. In their words they were not wasteful, they gained the upper hand over a conversation by demonstrating their strength through their posture, which Alfred found almost oppressive. And, astonishingly, this gave them even more strength than was logically acceptable at first.

Learning a strategy for a reaction in order to reflect that same strength in _his_ own way took time and strength, which the young king just couldn't muster right now.

Alfred exhaled violently and long through his nose when he finally decided to pause to let his steps come to a halt. The wet grass squeaked under his boot soles as soon as the dark-haired boy turned towards the open meadow, which bordered on the forest, now lying in his back.

The evening sun had already dried up on the horizon, only occasionally the previously iridescent red stained the blackening sky. Clouds piled over the colors, pushing their heavy grey down to earth. The full moon behind them was only partly visible, appeared to suffocate between the haze despite the vastness of the sky. The air still smelled strongly of rain, another storm would probably still be imminent.

Alfred had arrived earlier than intended but to decide whether he was happy to be the first to be at the meeting point or to have to wait alone in the dark, he tried to avoid constantly. Instead, the dark-haired boy pulled his collar closer to his chin, shielding the cold of the early night as he narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to identify the figure of the Norseman on the darkened, bare plain in front of him.

For the first time that day, silence moved into his thoughts, but even this he was unable to welcome. The stone in his stomach, which could not be decomposed since the morning, weighed plumply inside his interior, making him feel an uncomfortable hint of nausea.

Instinctively, his cold fingers closed around the handle of his sword. He had set out to deny any fear access to his emotions today, but while the silence dragged on even longer, the last red disappeared in the sky and the blackness gained dominance, he allowed the alarmed caution to come forward.

He put not only _his_ life, but also that of his entire kingdom at risk without even having entered the real war yet. He should have asked his brother and his warriors for help. Aethelred would be at his side. Alfred felt the guilt gnawing inside. He should rely on his brother, show him that he trusted him and that he was of the utmost importance to him. Instead, he withdrew from him and fled into his irresponsible, breakneck plans. Maybe he should just –

Alfred turned around in a jerk when the whicker of his horse tore apart the heavy silence of the night. The animal's hooves slipped in the mud as it pushed backwards, ears turned alerted towards the forest. The dark-haired boy held his breath as he focused on finding any twitching between the shadows of the trees. His heart fluttered in his chest before it began to shake dangerously when a figure broke out of the darkness, blurred.

Then: a harsh snort that flew over to him.

"It's me." Ubbes voice sent shivers down his spine and Alfred had to struggle not to show the relief with an open sigh. Instead, he briefly closed his eyes, confident that the Viking would not be able to recognize this gesture in the dark until a little while away. The blade of his sword sank slightly downwards.

"Greet you, Ubbe."

It was only when the older one had overcome half the distance between them and the sporadic moonlight began to break out of the blackness that Alfred could identify the Viking's facial features completely.

Ubbe's eyes carried the same unapproachable shimmer as in the morning and throughout their ride back. For a moment, Alfred forgot the promise to himself that he would not feel any conspicuous excitement. He felt transported back into the long silence of their way home, which had been filled with Alfred's rumblings and the crunch of the leather saddle as soon as he slipped around in his seat.

Ubbe, on the other hand, did not seem to be disturbed by the blunt atmosphere in which they revelled. The young king wondered if both of their different behavior was in their blood or merely depicted their individual personality traits. In any case, he could not remember ever seeing the Norsemen having a proper conversation. Their interactions in his presence were always limited to short discussions and reactions as well as heated combat training. Maybe that was just part of their mentality.

Alfred did not move while watching the blonde overcoming the last few meters to him. Ubbe was only carrying his sword, other weapons did not seem to be part of the plan.

Once again, the young Christian nodded towards the Norsemen, letting the tip of the blade of his own sword sink into the wet earth at his feet. Ubbe stood right in front of him, resting his left hand on the handle of his own weapon.

Despite their not too drastic difference in height, the older one was able to look down on him. And the way in which he did so led Alfred to reject his intention to act all confident and dominant. Any behavior that veered in this direction felt wrong and set up in that situation. Did kings really have to stand with their chins raised and their chests stretched? To dispel any color from their eyes and appear unapproachable?

The image that his mother tried to put to his heart so many times did not seem to be able to describe himself. He could not identify with this role, but had to grow in order to accept it in good conscience. At the moment, however, Alfred could not imagine ever being great or selfless enough. He had never been able to keep his distance from his followers, felt obliged to meet them at least on an equal footing, even though he knew that at some point he would get into trouble because of it. Alfred could not prevent himself from feeling repulsive and miserable as soon as he had to face someone only as a king and much less as the young boy that he was. The required cold in his eyes felt sluggish and heavy, leaving his lids tired. And yet he had no choice.

He was younger than most of his followers. He was younger than any Viking he had offered protection to. Younger than any Norseman who was under his grace. He had no right to stand above them, and yet he was given this privilege without a single doubt. And Alfred _had to_ use this right to protect the many people who were inferior to him.

And yet he dropped this role again, pushing it into the shadows, letting it sink into the darkness of the night, while he looked up to Ubbe, trying his way through a smile instead of the brittle 'What now?' from the morning.

Alfred was also younger than Ubbe. He had less experience than Ubbe- had _no experience_ compared to him. The only thing he was superior to the Norseman was the English tone he used without having to try. Alfred filled the silence, slicked the waves with his diplomatic words and conveyed as best he could. And if this was all he could offer at the moment, he simply had to invoke this eloquence over and over again, while in the meantime he overplayed the inner nervousness until he had actually learned the desired hardness.

Ubbe's response to Alfred's smile was less a reflecting of that gesture than a rigid distortion of the corners of his mouth. Under his beard, his lips bent to a thin line, his eyes narrowed slightly, while his eyebrows cast shadows over his eyelids, his forehead slightly folded.

Alfred had already seen this gesture with his counterpart more often, also an expression that reminded him of Ragnar Lothbrok, but seemed far less intimidating on his son.

Presumably, his perception had shifted since childhood. But perhaps he had simply used the time to reflect. Since his first and last encounter with the famous Viking, he had constantly questioned how much truth was behind the stories about Ragnar and whether the man who seemed so infinitely broken when he presented him with his father's cross was in fact the dangerous, ingenious hero he was described as in the many stories.

His grandfather seemed to have seen him as more than that. In his stories, Ragnar Lothbrok had turned out not only to be a hero, but also to be a human being. Alfred was sure that it was this realization that made Ubbe's facial expressions seem more harmless. His facial features were still harsh, seemed unapproachable, but Alfred had become accustomed to them surprisingly quickly, not least because Ubbe also applied similar demeanor to his peers.

"I doubted that you would appear."

Ubbes well-known facial expression disappeared and Alfred found himself at the mercy of another blink, but did not turn his gaze away from the taller one.

The blade of his sword produced a tenacious loop through the wet mud as the young king pulled it closer to himself, with his fingertips slightly swaying against the handle, but not finding a steady rhythm.

"Why that?" Alfred was surprised by the calmness in his voice, even though he already guessed the other's response.

Ubbe turned his face to the side, letting his focus radiate into the shadows of the forest.

Alfred observed the Viking's profile. There it was again, the tense smile and movement of the corners of his mouth, the slight curling of his nose.

"You English people don't seem so keen on experiencing adventures."

Alfred exhaled through his nose, his shoulders were shrugging, while his steady, light smile solidified. He turned his gaze into the forest too and narrowed his eyes, as only shadows streamed towards him, building up like a wall in front of him.

Alfred wondered if Ubbe could actually see something in front of them or if he lost himself in the darkness too.

"We prefer the rational way."

From the corner of his eye, the dark-haired boy could see how Ubbe put his head in his neck, his face slightly turned in the direction of the king, eyebrows pulled deeper over his eyelids.

"You miss a lot, boy."

Alfred's heart did a sentence, and for several seconds he couldn't muster the courage to recreate Ubbe's gaze. His throat seemed dry despite the damp air, scratching and pleading for a swallow, but the king only remained staring down the shadows in front of him until he even doubted his previously touted eloquence.

_Boy._

The moment of a possible reaction passed and Ubbe's voice rained down on him again.

"Rationality will not help you on the battlefield. Your natural senses-..", Ubbe's cold knuckles clashed Alfred's temples in the next heartbeat, giving his head an almost soft thrust, but enough to force the young king to react.

Alfred turned his face to the taller one by his side as he finished his sentence, still feeling the reverberation of the frosty touch. 

".. - will save your life and take it away from your enemies."

Alfred nodded inconclusively, not entirely sure, what reaction the Norseman would like to see.

The next moment, Ubbe's relaxed attitude dissolved. The blonde reached for his sword and pulled it. Instinctively, Alfred's clutching to the grip of his own weapon firmed, but the Viking did not let the blade swing in the king's direction. Instead, he pointed with it into the darkness of the forest.

"We train there."

"In the woods?" Alfred's voice was full of confusion.

By now, the moon had fought its way through the grey clouds, but its light was probably just enough to detect the surroundings within a radius of a few foot lengths.

"I don't think we're going to se-.."

"That's the plan." Ubbe's shoulders stretched as he impatiently put his head in his neck again, and Alfred quickly decided to let the older one speak without any further interruption.

"As I said, you have to be able to rely on your senses. You need to know when an attack could happen, even if you don't see anything. In a battle, you are blind. Always."

Ubbe set in motion and stopped shortly before the denser shadows between the first tree trunks, turning to Alfred, who had followed him quickly.

"We will divide up here and by my sign I will try to find you and overwhelm you."

Alfred did his best not to hold his breath at this point. Ubbe would split him with his sword even before the potential signal would sound. He could not imagine that his _natural senses_ could save him from it. He hadn't learned _one_ self-defense tactic, except that it was probably better to stay away from the Vikings altogether.

As if he felt Alfred's incredulity, Ubbe raised his free hand to point to the young king.

"And you will have the task of not letting yourself be caught. You have to trust in your senses. It will reduce your fear."

In addition to the fact that Ubbe's awareness of his fear was like a stone in his stomach, he couldn't help but question the kind of tactics the blonde was presenting to him. At first he had thrown axes at him and now he wanted to play chasing for advanced players with sharp weapons? This was in no way compatible with the way Aethelwulf had introduced his brother to fighting.

"Good." Alfred's answer and his accompanying nod testified to the latter thought process. His knees already made it difficult for him to stand steadfastly.

"My brothers and I did that a lot back then." Ubbe's eyes took on the surrounding shadows more strongly than before, but Alfred only became aware of this after his own reaction.

"Chasing?" His voice did not sound accusatory as he turned to the Norseman, not overhearing the personal information that he had just addressed to him.

"It's not just a game." Ubbe turned his shoulder to him, but from his profile Alfred dared to read a defensive attitude, which the blonde did not allow to show openly.

Alfred could not prevent light pictures from gathering in his mind. Somehow he started to visualise Ubbe, Bjorn and Ivar chasing each other through the woods, Ivar on one of his brothers backs, laughing.

The young king could not deny that with Ubbe's sentence he heard of another circumstance, which dragged the Vikings into a different light, making them seem almost more human.

But what did he expect? That the people of the North were already born with violent abundance? That they have always carried a distorted face soaked in roughness? That the Vikings were no more than lost souls eating their own people? Many stories about them described exactly these pictures.

Alfred also stepped closer towards the deep shadows, giving the taller one a quick look from the corner of his eye. Something about the way Ubbe approached the game with his siblings made his facial features look warmer and more approachable for a fraction of a few silent seconds, until Ubbe fell into a harsh snort and turned into the darkness.

"Senses, Alfred."

Once Ubbe's outlines were fused with the shadows, the nocturnal cold seemed to become clearer, attacking Alfreds limbs more intensely. He pulled the sword out of the mud, positioning the blade in front of his torso. The grip that his clenched fingers exerted was rigid, hurting more with every second. Alfred's jerky breath was blowing irregularly against the metal of his sowrds blade, leaving it briefly fogged, blurring the reflection of the moon.

One drop landed on his sword, another followed, wetting the expansive blade. Alfred raised his gaze long enough to realize that it began to rain and short enough to be able to observe the forest again in the next second.

The young king clenched his jaw, started to move, unsure which direction he should seek. Eventually, he chose the opposite direction to the one in which Ubbe had set off. Even though he was almost certain that this idea would quickly come to the Norseman‘s mind, his senses screamed for more time to gain the greatest possible distance from the Viking.

Alfred could not defend himself and certainly could not concentrate on his senses. His pulse fluttered in his ears, and every step on the withered, muddy leaves at his feet seemed louder than the other.

The seconds seemed to drag on to minutes, frozen in the icy darkness of the night, while Alfred roamed blind-left through the forest, turning over and over again around his own axis. His eyes were wide, trying in vain to see something between the shadows. His knuckles began to stood out under the intensity with which he encompassed his sword.

_‚We will divide up here and by my sign I will try to find you and overwhelm you.‘_

_‚By my sign.‘_ Alfred breathed through his nose, dared to stop walking while waiting for Ubbe's sign. Whatever that may be.

From a distance, a clatter rang out and instinctively the young king turned in the direction in which the sound originated from. It sounded as if someone was clashing two stones together and the second time like a blade hitting a rock.

_The sign._

For a long moment Alfred stopped breathing. From the corner of his eye, the hilltops of the area outside the forest flashed. He couldn't have walked far. The dark-haired boy swallowed, tried to fight the dryness on his tongue. Eventually, he decided to turn sharply to the left into the deeper shadows. His pace doubled. With his right hand, he held his weapon at chest level in front of him, the other pushed branches to the side, leading him through nowhere.

In addition to his own steps on the muddy ground, he imagined hearing more steps near him. However, all the glances Alfred cast around gave no indication of an approaching person.

His lungs hurt after all the minutes in which he was already trying to hold his breath. His headaches started to spread again behind his forehead. Alfred was sure that he could imagine much better training methods, more pleasant activities at this hour.

Increased crackling sounded behind him and with a big step, which almost made him slip, the young king finally threw himself behind the next best tree, pressing his back to the damp, smooth bark, raising his sword, building it up in front of his torso, waiting.

Alfred became dizzy as he tried to control his breathing. The blade of his sword swayed slightly in front of his face, and for a moment he believed he could see his own blurred silhouette as a reflection on the cold metal. His face shone pale under the cold light of the moon.

Alfred was able to identify his short black hair and his facial expressions underneath, distorted and indistinct in the darkness. However, the young king did not need to see his own image clearly to know that he could read the tension from his facial features.

His throat escaped a hoarse sigh, carrying the hint of a suppressed whimper. He was cold. The rain began to soak his clothes. He leaned against a tree as cold as it was wet, waiting for the attack of a Norseman. In fact, at that moment Alfred was only longing for the warmth of his bed, which was waiting for him far away in his chambers.

Laughable. Alfred turned his gaze to the treetops, put his head in his neck until he could feel the moisture of the tree bark on the back of his head. He refused to meet his reflection again.

An owl screamed in the distance.

Here he was. A king. A warrior. A warrior and a king. A successor. The husband of a queen. Ruler of Wessex. Alfred raised his eyebrows energetically. Even his sword felt heavier than it already was, his fingers more lifeless than possible by the influence of the cold.

 _‚Be a king.‘_ The dark-haired boy could hear his mother's voice even though he was sure that these were definitely not the words she would now address to him.

 _‚Don't be afraid._ ‘ The voice of his persecutor mixed with those of the former queen, reminding him more clearly of his situation. Alfred stretched his shoulders and shifted his weight back to his own feet, detaching from the bark of the tree to which he had previously pressed himself.

The steps he had heard before had faded away. What was left was the constant drumming of raindrops on the forest floor as well as his own loud breathing. How could he be so paranoid that even his own ears and eyes deceived him?

Alfred pressed his cold lips together and ripped his shoulder around, got out of his cover, lifting his sword, ready for an attack.

He was confronted only by darkness as an adversary. The forest lay in the same oppressive silence in front of him as before. The same dull sounds of falling raindrops sounded on the foliage. The branches of the bare trees still sway undisturbed in the wind.

Instinctively, he lowered his hand with his sword, gripped by short-term relief.

"Wrong." Alfred believed the devil had appeared right next to his ear.

He had no time to notice his heart jumping to his throat from one moment to the next, his muscles tightening in a shaking fright. Because right in the next second a heavy arm snagged around his shoulders, ripping him out of his balance in such force that the king only slumped defenceless backwards, violently hitting another body.

The rain now appeared terribly hot on his skin, almost burning under it. His pulse soared.

Alfred ripped his arm up with his sword, but was blocked halfway up by another move from his attacker, so that he couldn’t use his weapon in the first place.

The situation developed so quickly that Alfred thought he couldn't even find the time to blink. In the next second, for the second time on this day, a brittle blade was pressed to his throat, led by an opponent, whom Alfred could not even face head-on.

Instinctively, he put his head back, dodging the sword until he hit the Vikings' shoulder. The raindrops on his leather shoulder pads gathered in Alfred's hair, the wet clothes of the Norseman were uncomfortably cold against his neck. The dark-haired boy believed Ubbe would smash his chest the next moment with his engaging grip in which he held him.

"Dead."

Ubbe's voice flickered right next to his ear. The breath of the Viking hit his jaw, forming a strong contrast to the icy night air, which had meanwhile again taken possession of him.

 _Dead._ The word turned in front of his inner eye, flickering like the light of a candle. Unsure whether or not it would be extinguished in the next heartbeat.

 _Dead._ The young king realized how deep Ubbes voice sounded in the darkness. Not shattering, not scratching, more like he imagined the north to sound. Untamed, not aggressive, but harboring a distant ferocity that, until recently, would have bordered on madness in Alfred's ears.

Alfred thought he was suffocating while feeling Ubbe's breathing on his back. Unable to think about it further, he allowed himself to drop all his weight against his pursuer, unable to maintain the curved posture. He also tried to escape the blade in the hope of loosening the blonde's grip. 

Ubbe's clothes were as cold as his own. Still, warmth was leaking towards him. Alfred did not know if he heard the heart of the Norseman or his own beating. In fact, he had the feeling that his own pulse had already fallen silent. Every movement he still felt found its origin in Ubbe. Every twitching, every breath. Alfred could feel every motion of the other in his back, and for a torturous moment, this was all he was capable of.

The sword weighed heavily in his hand, crossing the mud at his feet.

"How would I die?" Alfred's words sounded far away in his mind. The rain seemed to be getting louder and louder. He did not know exactly where the syllables had originated, but suspected that his interior must have independently decided to fill the situation with words rather than to stretch it further in cold silence.

The silence, however, did not die. Even his own voice, the drumming of the rain and Ubbe's sudden harsh snort next to his ear could not displace it.

The next moment, the pressure around his chest dissipated and his lungs were released. Ubbe had pushed him from himself and back into an upright stand, removing the sword from Alfreds throat.

"What?" Ubbe's tone was indefinable.

But Alfred could sense Ubbe's facial expression without having to turn to him. The young king raised his own sword again, only now noticing how violently his fingers had been wrapped around the weapon. His ankles hurt as he loosened his grip.

"You said I don't know what to expect." Alfred turned around and his heart jumped when he met Ubbe head-on. The Vikings short hair stuck to his forehead, the clothes to his body, dark from the heaviness of the rain.

"So what is it that awaits me?" Alfred did not know if he really wanted to hear the answer, but gradually he realized why he had asked the question in the first place. He risked the well-being of his kingdom out here, risked it in battle against Harald Finehair. Everything in him pulled together in pain as soon as he thought about losing his grandfather's legacy because of his own failure.

But what actually caused the blood in his veins to freeze was the feeling of the cold blade against his _own_ throat. Alfred could not die. He was existential for the kingdom. But Alfred did not _want_ to die. He had fallen so much on his responsibilities that he had forgotten to feel fear of himself. All the more clear his own vulnerability became and for a tiny second of loss of control the dark-haired boy would have liked to have thrown the sword off him, would have liked to have been the prince again, who watched his brother and Aethelwulf from afar while fighting and criticizing their willingness to fight with his mother.

"Ubbe?" Alfred's tone actually managed to hide his thought processes, acting neutrally under the guise of his forced vocal color.

The young king could see that Ubbe found it difficult to read from the figure of the younger one in the darkness, so he seemed to take his time with an answer.

A sigh rushed through the shadows to him, and the Norseman let his sword slide into its holder on his belt. Ubbe overcame the distance he had previously won from the king and placed himself in front of him, patting Alfred roughly with his palm against the smaller ones shoulder, lightly shaking his head.

„I don't know what to tell you. They're Vikings against you. We know no inhibitions, we know no hesitation while fighting. It is an honour for us to die in a battle. But even greater to show the gods what to expect when we visit them in Valhalla."

Alfred narrowed his eyes, staring at Ubbe, who had not lived up to his question. He didn't know what to think about first. The fact that Ubbe used the term _‚us‘_ , thus was probably still committed to the pagan gods, the fact that the Norseman himself was one of those who initiated such brutal battles to offer their violent gods a spectacle, or the fact that the older one kept quiet about him.

Alfred had heard many stories about what had happened to King Aelle. And every single one of them had turned his stomach once more. He knew that the sons of Ragnar had led this campaign, knew that Ubbe had been among them.

Alfred felt a shallow sting in his veins, a feeling of dislike that opened up like a wide gap beneath him, and Ubbe's next touch, which unwillingly kept him above the surface.

"And you." Ubbe repeated the slight punch on Alfred's shoulder, then transformed it into a firm grip. "You shouldn't even think about dying. You can do that after we won."

The blonde lowered his head slightly to get a better view of Alfred's mine, who was fighting with himself. He shouldn't be here at all. They should both not be here.

How could he treat the Norseman with a kind of justice that they did not understand? Alfred had handed them the lands knowing what the Vikings were capable of. He didn’t kill any of them when they fled to Wessex. They, on the other hand, would kill Alfred as soon as the opportunity became available and they had the upper hand again.

Alfred opened his mouth, feeling the need to ask Ubbe about his thoughts, to calm his worries.

_Would you kill me?_

Alfred did not know why he thought this question would be justified, nor why the answer was so important to him. He had been the one who had threatened Ubbe and his friends to be killed as soon as they refused to fight with him against Harald Finehair. At that time, he had tried to communicate with the Norsemen in a way that they would understand.

But all this only confirmed why he was here. Why Ubbe was here.

Alfred needed the Vikings to win the battle. Ubbe needed him to keep the lands and leave Wessex alive. No more and no less.

"We're not like you." Alfred turned his gaze away, pretending to search the forest for possible dangers.

Ubbe's grip on his shoulder strengthened for a moment before the taller one let go of him.

"I know. But maybe you should try to be. There will be no mercy. Never."

Alfred forced himself to turn his gaze to Ubbe again, thankful for the darkness that hid the hint of intimidation in his eyes. Ubbe's tone carried the meaning of his words, seemed dark and threatening, without having to be louder or quieter.

"God has grace ready for us." He did not like the way in which Ubbe's eyes spoke of resistance.

The young king tried to put together the image he had previously won from the blonde when he talked about the game with his brothers. But this was not detectable and Alfred wondered if he had only imagined the warmth on Ubbe's facial features. The spirit of the Viking could not be captured and if Alfred was sure in a second that he could classify his behavior, he was confronted with the fact that he could not become smart from the other in the next. Alfred tapped in the dark, shadows encircled him in every way possible. 

"Good." Ubbe put his hand on top of the handle of his sword again. "Close your eyes."

For a moment Alfred felt the need to ask about Ubbe's intention, but left it at the silence between them. The dark-haired boy could not undermine the disappointment that was rolling in his stomach, nor all the unanswered questions that the Viking's words had invoked in him. But he was too tired to revisit this point of conflict. At the moment, his exhausted mind found only energy for one problem.

Alfred closed his eyes, greeting the complete darkness for a heartbeat, before Ubbe raised his voice again.

"Describe to me what you hear."

Alfred felt as if he would freeze on the ground when he tried to make as little noise as possible in order to be able to follow Ubbe's request.

"The rain," he began, his eyes squeezed tighter to concentrate on any other noise than the sound of the raindrops. "The wind, the branches ... Your steps."

Ubbe's steps rotated around him, giving the young king the information that the older one was circling him. Slowly Alfred began to turn around his own axis, his face following Ubbe's movements.

"Good." Alfred believed being able to recognize satisfaction in the tone of the Norseman, and for a fraction of a second his heart leapt.

"What else do you sense?"

Alfred had to make an effort to keep Ubbe's steps in focus as he began to expand his senses. Only now did he realize how cold he was. The rain had finally soaked his clothes, now reaching to his skin, chasing a shiver over his backbone. The wind collapsed against his skin, hurling the drops in his face and moving his body into a steady tremor. The young king no longer felt his fingertips.

"The cold. The wet. The wind. The darkness." Alfred was as if he could feel the shadows that afflicted him from all sides.

Ubbe did not answer and Alfred meanwhile went along with the movements of the Norseman. He waited a moment to say what was burning on his tongue.

"And you." The young king held his breath, keeping his eyes closed. Even when Ubbe suddenly stopped and changed the direction of his circles after a few seconds. Alfred followed the steps in silence, the senses stretched to the extreme, waiting for a reaction.

"What exactly?" Alfred couldn't define the tone in Ubbe's question, and for some reason he couldn't stop thinking about it. He felt the need to open his eyes, but at the same time he was merely pressing them together more firmly.

"Your presence. I don't know how, but I can feel someone is there." Alfred could feel that _Ubbe_ was there. Could feel that a _Viking_ was there. The shadows around him seemed to be displaced by the presence of the other, the atmosphere completely distorted. He couldn't pinpoint how exactly he knew that he wasn't alone.

"Good. Remember this intuition."

Alfred nodded, even if he wasn't sure if the blonde could see his gesture in the darkness.

Ubbe's steps became faster and the younger one subconsciously adapted to the pace.

"And what do you feel?"

The king raised his eyebrows, lost the rhythm of Ubbe's steps, and eventually had to stop to recapture the sounds of those. Right now he felt nothing but the cold in his limbs and the constant drumming of his heart against his ribs. The young king did not know whether he was dizzy because of Ubbe's question, to which he could not answer, or because he had been turning blindly in circles for some time.

_What do you feel?_

Alfred also tried to let his senses be debauched on this question. He felt tense and tired. Physically as well as psychologically. In spite of this, his interior was at high tension, as if he expected at every moment an action of the other to which it was necessary to react. The dark-haired boy could not decide whether it was fear, caution or adrenaline that filled his veins. But he could certainly feel the vibrating of his pulse, the short heat boost that it gave him.

_What do you feel?_

Alfred began to dwell on this question, forcing himself to start over again and again for some reason, not sure how to respond.

Instinctively, he opened his eyes and abruptly stopped his movements when he noticed that Ubbe was no longer standing in front of him. In a jerk, the young king turned around, but the Viking was not present near him and if that was still possible, his heartbeat doubled by another instance.

The king recaptured the grip of his sword, noting the numbness in his fingers. Tensily, he squeezed his cold lips together, letting his gaze wander. It was as if the rain had become louder, as if his blood had begun to rush in his ears again.

_Don't be afraid._

Alfred forced himself to close his eyes again, even though his consciousness actively rebelled against that decision, his thoughts screaming to look around. He remained in the darkness, his sword raised slightly, displacing the sound of the rain from his perception.

Another noise ghosted towards him, but unlike the wind between the branches. Dragging yet light. Steps. A nervous twitching settled on his lips as his excitement soared. The noise grew louder, turning around him just as Ubbe did before. And there it was again. The feeling of another person near him. The displacement of the cold air by another body.

Alfred's knuckles pierced through the pale skin on his hand as he more energetically clutched the handle of his weapon, his arm tensed, ready to pull out. A sense of confidence germinated in his chest for the first time, inflaming and gifting him a spark of warmth.

Wet fabric started to crunch next to his ear, which gave Alfred the information that an arm was raised near him. A quiet rattling followed. A sword was pulled.

The next moment, the young king opened his eyes, abruptly turned to the left, where dark outlines of a figure towered. At the same moment of his rotation, Alfred raised his sword against his opponent, recognizing Ubbe, who also pulled his weapon vigorously. In a hard clatter, the metal of the two weapons met, rang in the king's ears.

Under the effort with which he pressed the blade of his sword against that of the Vikings, he peered up to Ubbe and to his surprise the older one already stared down at him, meeting his gaze. Alfred let out a stalled breath, releasing an exhausted grunt, which he could not suppress in time. When he finally had no strength to resist, he pulled his sword backwards, ducked under Ubbe's sword almost clumsily, stumbled a few steps to the side, placing his weapon in front of him, alarmed.

Alfred didn’t dare to show it openly, but pride flared up in his lungs, driving the cold of the rain for a few long moments. He had sensed the Norseman and attacked him first.

The taller one nodded and began to circle the young king again, the corners of his mouth bent in his usual gesture. "Better."

Alfred's pride grew beyond itself, but quickly collapsed when Ubbe pulled out in front of him with another attack, putting more strength in it as if he had to make up for something.

The younger one was gasping as he ducked under the Viking‘s blade. There it was again, the cold knot in his stomach, which began to bend in him. Alfred could not react properly, he could not direct his own sword quickly enough against his attacker, which meant that he only dodged left and right over and over again, pulling his own weapon loosely behind him.

With a dull crunch, Ubbe's sword finally cut the bark of a tree, in front of which the young king had stood a few seconds earlier, giving Alfred the time to take a short breath, to bring some distance between him and the blonde, to immerse himself in the shadows of the forest.

Alfred wasn't exactly sure what tactics he was using, but at the moment he couldn't overcome himself to turn around and face Ubbe. As long as he was not within his reach, he did not need to lead his sword. Perhaps he could lower Ubbe's strenght a little and get close from the ambush as the Norseman had done with him before.

"You're not supposed to run, you know." There was a lot of air in Ubbe's words, telling the young king that the man had actually lost some of his breath during the persecution.

Shame boiled under his skin. Ubbe was right. But at the moment, he couldn't think of anything better than hiding between shadows and calling it a _tactic_.

Alfred turned around his own axis between the shadows, finally catching a glimpse of Ubbe's figure, which now reestablished itself in his field of vision. Once again, he ducked backwards into the darkness, orbiting the greater one, until Ubbe's back was facing him.

A few seconds of silence dragged on, and the king almost feared that his eardrum would burst under the sudden loudness of the rain.

Alfred's heart stopped when he finally stepped out of the darkness before his chance would pass. In rapid movements, he headed towards the Viking, releasing the pent-up breath from his lungs as soon as he raised his sword against the blonde.

The kings blade hissed through the air, while Ubbe ducked away under the heavy swing of metal just in time, half of his face facing the king now. Alfred felt the heat boiling in his veins as soon as he heard the slightly startled hissing of the Norseman.

What would have happened if he had hit the older one? His previous feeling of pride no longer kept rushing through his blood, was replaced by crushing nausea. What would the others have said? Alfred was sure Bjorn would have killed him before he could even explain himself. And what would he have done? Without the help of the Vikings in the upcoming battle? Ubbe would have died because of him. In a practice fight in which Alfred didn’t even have an idea of what he was doing.

In addition to the shameful feeling in his stomach, relief was added. He could never have killed Ubbe. That was impossible.

But what if the Norseman would take it up like this? Alfred felt the extra power in Ubbe's blow after fending him off for the first time.

The heavy swing of his sword merely through air had ripped the young king off balance, so he had to turn again to be able to look around for Ubbe's state of mind.

But before he could only carry out half of his movement, a hard blow hit him in his chest. Instinctively, his fingers lost hold on the handle of his weapon as Alfred sank to his knees. Stinging tears shot into his eyes, burned hot against the freezing cold of the night, mingled with the drumming rain. For a moment, the boy thought he had to suffocate and a high-pitched wheeze escaped his throat.

"You need to be faster than that, king."

Alfred did not notice that Ubbe addressed him with his title, nor could he even correctly classify the words of the blonde. With his eyes pressed together, he caught himself at the first best tree, forcing himself to get through the storm of pain in his chest.

Devotedly, he raised his left hand in the direction in which he believed he could perceive Ubbe, silently asking for a break. And while Alfred bent his hands in front of his torso, he cursed his mind for all its intertwined thoughts. How much he wished they would become quiet.

"No breaks during battle." Ubbe's words were almost amused when he finally came forward, grabbed Alfred by the arm and pushed him to the ground alomst effortlessly.

Alfred found his breath again as soon as his back hit the muddy forest floor, the cold of it creeping right through his clothes. With an overwhelmed gasp he opened his eyes, found himself under the Viking, staring directly at Ubbe. The older man's left forearm pushed his torso down energetically, allowing Alfred to feel the pain in his chest again. Ubbe's left hand still wielded his sword as he could see from the corner of his eye.

With his hand the young king groped for his own weapon, guided by the instinctive fear for his life. Alfred was at a point where he could no longer assess the situation. And the fact that Ubbe had not been as concerned about the king's welfare as Alfred had been about the Norseman's, reinforced that dizzying uncertainty.

In a jerk, he threw his head around, looking for his sword, which he could not reach.

_‚You should've taken an axe. Your sword was lost.‘_

The king returned his gaze up to the dark outlines above him, unable to recognize Ubbe's face in his sudden delusion. In the end, he decided to use the only weapon he still had: his own body.

Alfred began to wriggle under the grip of the Norseman, trying to hit him with his knees to get out of the situation. For a moment, he considered that he looked like a helpless beetle on his back, before those thoughts were clouded by the sound of his opponent's sharp inhale. Alfred had hit Ubbe with his knee in the stomach area and for a moment the blonde sank slightly above him.

But before the king could make another move, cold metal flashed in front of his eyes, sluggishly being pushed to his throat.

"Dead." Ubbe's voice sounded a little suffocated and Alfred dared to look up to the taller one for the first time in what felt like hours. His breathing rattled heavily in his throat. Almost hysterically, the dark-haired boy searched the eyes of the Viking. But those were calm. Alfred couldn't find the suspected greed for blood anywhere.

Alfred swallowed, believing that the dizziness would rob him of his mind. It was as if the young king fell into a constant spiral between panic and relief, cold and heat. He hated not being able to assess the situation. While he finally decided to stay in his frozen position for a little longer, he expected to be gripped by all the pictorial thoughts that had haunted him in the last few minutes. From bloody images of disturbing acts of violence to vibrating, toneless screams in his mind.

To his surprise, however, his head was empty. And the sword on his throat was not used either.

Instead, he became aware of Ubbe's lack of movements. Only the burdenoning weight on Alfred's torso continued to be exerted by the Viking. The boy peered to Ubbe's lowered eyelids, noting that the Norseman allowed himself a break on Alfred's hit, slightly tensing the corners of his mouth as he tried to hide the hint of pain in his face.

Only now did Alfred allow himself to register how close they were. Ubbe's breath brushed his cold nose and his wet clothes on his forearm were pressed against Alfred's jaw, giving the younger one no chance to turn his head. His neck hurt, his arms rested motionlessly next to his flanks, immobile.

Alfred's breathing did not want to calm down, his heart did not beat slower. His body tingled under the numbness brought about by the cold, and the only area of his limbs not affected by the frosty wind gusts was the one that rested directly under the Norseman. He felt like he was sweating despite the cold.

Then finally Ubbe looked up, his eyebrows furrowed, his right eyelid slightly pulled upwards, constricting the blue of his eyes. Suddenly this expression put Alfred back to the moment when he offered Ragnar’s son to become a Christian, when Ubbe had risen from his chair and leaned over the table to confront the king with that same expression on his features.

It was the first time that Alfred had seen this typical way of communication used by the northern people. Ubbe had used his size and body language to clarify his point of view, and the young king could still remember the slight confusion in the eyes of the Viking when he had not recreated this form of radiating power. Ubbe had come close to him and Alfred had only stared forward, not raising himself too. In the end, it had been the interaction of their very different languages, which had eventually led them into an alliance.

Now the situation seemed no different. Except for the small detail that Alfred no longer considered himself to be the one in control. Back then his heart had already beaten fast, but now it drummed in every fiber of his body.

Another thing he could no longer ignore was the oppressive behaviour of the northern people towards their fellow human beings. Alfred felt that he no longer had enough air to breathe, so close did the strangers occasionally get. They didn't seem to notice the incision into the comfort zone of others or simply didn‘t care. Most Englishmen, on the other hand, generally spoke with a polite distance, which in turn could also seem cold. But at least this was not overwhelming for the interlocutor.

"If you would have kicked harder, you might have escaped." Ubbe's amused voice distorted the silence around them, seemed inappropriate between all his ideas of the Norseman that were formed inside of his mind during the last few seconds. The young king believed that he could still notice a trace of suppressed pain in the Viking's tone, but did not dare to show this openly, merely accepting Ubbe's acting.

The knot in his stomach seemed to loosen somewhat as soon as Ubbe finally moved, withdrew the sword from Alfred's throat and freed the younger man's torso from the constant, oppressive pressure of his forearm.

The dark-haired boy let out a breath, which spoke of more relief than he liked. Even though he wasn't standing upright, he noticed the tremor in his knees, the waves of fading tension that flooded him, leading Alfred's arm unconsciously into a playful, light blow to Ubbe's chest, expressing his resignation.

Ubbes snort rushed strangely through the rain to him. His facial expressions seemed to lighten in Alfred's eyes, again revealing the well-known, withdrawn gesture of the older one. Distanced, but at least no longer marked by a wild, indefinable stream of danger. Alfred couldn't hold back the upward twitching of the corners of his mouth, and for a moment he lost himself in the act of chasing the features on Ubbes face, felt less guilty about asking the Viking instead of his own brother for support.

When Alfred noticed that Ubbe was returning his gaze, he was no longer sure how much time had passed in which he already had the opportunity to move his limbs again. Slowly, the king turned his head, stretching his aching neck, before patting his hand lightly on the muddy forest floor, signaling that he was finally and officially surrendering. 

By now, the drops had become a steady pouring of water masses, unstoppably dripping out of their clothes, running down their limbs. Staying in the cold even longer would cause them unnecessary harm. Not to mention that Alfred wished almost nothing more than to finally be able to dive into the feathers of his bed.

Meanwhile, Ubbe had followed Alfred's request with the tiniest hint of a triumphant grin, swaying slightly forward and finally rolling to the side next to Alfred on the forest floor.

Alfred felt like he was taking a breath for the first time in hours, and in the next second his body seemed to regain his eloquence on his own, as if it had never been absent.

Alfred did not know how much time had passed before he dared to speak aloud again.

"Did you win?"

"Hm?" Alfred enjoyed the effortless grunting that came from the Viking and also seemed to reveal the others tiredness.

"The game with your brothers. Back then."

Next to him, Ubbe finally moved. From the corner of his eye, the young king could see the blonde pushing himself upwards.

"Sometimes." Ubbe snorted again and Alfred knew he hadn't told the truth.

The king remained for another moment on the dripping foliage as if he were frozen. His eyes sent his focus aimlessly to the treetops. From this angle they looked like dark claws, then again like lattice rods and the next moment like protective hands. Alfred couldn't remember ever being as grateful to be alive as he was in that short and almost weak heartbeat. Even if only for this moment in which the cold robbed him of every feeling in his limbs and gave him the feeling of being weightless.

"That would be dead two times in a row now." Ubbe's words pulled him out of his short-lived idyll and exposed him to his oppressive reality.

Alfred grunted and threw his head back, almost no longer feeling the wetness in his neck, before he heaved himself upwards too. Every muscle, every bone, every millimeter of his body ached, seemed to be owned by infinite heaviness. He distorted his face, circling his shoulders in a quiet groan. Had he ever been so physically active? How could the Norseman just run around every day so persistently and smash each other's heads without getting tired?

"Don't be afraid. You're learning."

_Not fast enaugh._

Ubbe's words sounded casual. Alfred was sure he didn't even realize which meaning they held for him.

He expected too much of himself, had imagined his progress to go unrealistically quickly.

God have mercy on him. Alfred could only pray that he was prepared in time. For a moment, he had to use all his willpower to not disagree with Ubbe's words out loud, not to openly reveal to the Viking how concerned he really was. Worried about something he did not even understand, in whose direction he only was lead by the hand of God. Young, inexperienced, blind.

His clothes were soaked, his feet sore. He couldn't feel his fingertips.

Despite the fact that his breathing had calmed down a little, his lungs were still aching as he turned to Ubbe, who bent over to pick up Alfred's sword to present the king with the weapon, eyes locked.

For a brief moment Alfred felt the blue fire from Ubbes eyes right inside of his lungs, burning all the way down to his throat and to his chest. He was scared. And he started to worry that this sickness wasn't going to die before him.

But a new feeling ignited next to the noose of worry, enveloping, warm and pulsating. Pleasant yet nerve wracking.

Alfred could feel his heart reaching for this condition as soon as Ubbe dropped his own sword into the holder on his belt, reached out for the kings weapon, raising Alfred's blade slightly with his fingertips and led it in his own direction, allowing the sword to find unprotected position in front of the Viking's torso.

His gaze didn‘t flicker once and again Alfred could not help but admire the confidence with which the people of the North acted.

"You will be prepared. I promise."

Alfred blinked to the top of his sword, which had found a halt on Ubbe's soaked chest. The blade trembled slightly under the exhausted grip of the young king.

Alfred was sure that Ubbe wanted to show him something with his gesture. He did not use the same language as the young Christian would have done, but his way of communication was still evident. He simply _showed_ Alfred what he meant.

Perhaps because of the benefits that would come for Ubbe with a successful battle. Perhaps also because he had noticed the panic the young king had briefly felt during the Vikings' attack.

Even if Alfred was not able to speak the Vikings language, he understood.

_‚You can trust me.‘_

The heat began to swarm, reaching for the knot inside of Alfreds stomach, loosening the noose a little. Alfred did not dare to turn his gaze away from his counterpart, fearing to break the respect he felt for the other at that moment. For Ubbe Ragnarsson. Not for Ragnar Lothbrok, not for Ragnar's son, not for the image of the famous, deceased Norseman. But for the warrior who stood right in front of him, who dedicated Alfred a gesture of trust that he would not have dared to dream of as king.

There it was again. The brief glow on Ubbe's features, which spoke of more than his cold, seemingly insane blood of the north. So contrary to all the stories Alfred had heard.

The warm side. As far as the color blue could be warm at all.

His breaths seemed to shatter between the icy shadows. It was as if the cold rain washed his frustration out of his skin for a single heartbeat, as if it freed him from the nagging panic inside of him. For that one second, that felt to him like a complete victory.

It was only for this moment that Alfred really believed in their success, in their victory over the battle that was about to take place. Only for this heartbeat that he believed in his abilities.

He wasn't going to die. He wasn't going to destroy what his grandfather built up, what his brother had to step back for and what his mother put her hope into.

He was afraid. Terrified even.

But right there he realized he had one thing less to be afraid of. Alfred still had to be extremely careful. Despite everything, Ubbe was still a man of the North and was under the direct influence of Bjorn and the rest of his family. And until now, the king didn't know the exact ambitions of the older one.

But for now, Ubbe was not the enemy. He was the ally.

God sent him help and for a moment Alfred allowed himself to put all his trust into Ubbes promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO: I needed this chapter to make sure there is a fundament of trust that they can build on and also found it important to show the way Alfred is still unsure, even very much worried about Ubbes "past life" as a viking (jokes on him, he will never change :|) and the fact that Ubbe is, after all, a Norseman with a hang for violence. It is what he was taught to act like and what he still acts like, even if he has a nice side too. I don't want to pretend like he is just grumpy and overall sweet besides that or sum cause yeah no. 
> 
> Let's hope Alfred can set something against Ubbes attitude 
> 
> Not me including Warrior Cats training techniques cause I don't know sh* about fighting haha 
> 
> And yes. We stan characters who can explain every feeling of attraction they have with a lOgiCaL definitely not attraction based reason.
> 
> I feel like Alfred is literally this Emoji  
> "👁️👄👁️" all the time too
> 
> (btw I'm lost, can someone figure out Alfreds eye color? His eyes look different in every picture wtf I don't know if they're blue or green or even brown sometimes wth)

**Author's Note:**

> [I will post fan'art' for every chapter I write on Tumblr (@tircdnangry) maybe not immediately but in some time for sure höhö]


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